


Enough

by kgirl1



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kgirl1/pseuds/kgirl1
Summary: Inspired by the recent season four trailer. Kanan has had enough.





	Enough

Busy didn't even begin to describe the scope of the activity when they landed on Yavin, but no one was more occupied than Hera Syndulla. The captain had new members of the rebellion to meet, briefings to attend at every turn of the hour, debriefings about Thrawn and the Battle of Atollon when she wasn't in those, and the relocation of her own squadron to manage. In the seventy-two hours they'd been on the planet, Kanan had seen Hera for a cumulative three of them, and he didn't even want to know how little she'd slept.

He managed to catch her at the caf station in the commissary (it was no coincidence—Hera was either powered by sleep or caf, usually the latter). He knew she hadn't taken the time to sit down and eat, so he brought a tray of food with him.

He was reaching out to touch her arm when she turned her head.

"Kanan."

Hera wasn't Force-sensitive, but sometimes her intuition made him wonder. She gave him the kind of smile that he knew was masking fatigue. She was buzzing and bright, in frenetic motion as always, but her Force signature was ragged around the edges, and even her vibrant green skin was dull around her eyes.

"Hi," he said gently.

"Hi." She turned back to the cup of caf and pressed a lid on it. "Sorry, I've got to run to—"

"You should sit. Eat something."

She paused, and looked hesitantly to the tray he'd brought: a heaping bowl of soup and hunk of portion bread. He saw the conflict in her eyes and it was a painful reminder of how many other needs she would put before her own.

Of how many other people she would put before them.

"Just share this with me," Kanan said. "I know you've been too busy to eat."

Hera glanced at the chrono on her wrist, and then back to him. He felt her wavering.

"I suppose I have a few minutes," she said finally. They found a seat, and he pushed the tray in front of her. Hera picked at a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth, then immediately reached for the entire hunk. Her appetite bemused Kanan— she was accustomed to food shortages, after growing up on Ryloth, and could ignore hunger pangs for days; but once supplied with sustenance, it was as if her body remembered how to eat again, and she would be ravenous as her system tried to make up for lost nutrition. It had been a recurring quarrel, when he'd first joined her on the  _Ghost_ — if anything, she'd only gotten worse about sustenance as their crew expanded, but he'd long since taken on the responsibility of making sure she was eating (and for that matter, sleeping) enough.

Kanan gave her a few minutes to eat before interrupting her.

"How's everything going with the relocation?" He asked, after she was halfway through the meal he hadn't planned on taking a bite of.

"Good," Hera nodded, lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth. She swallowed, then admitted, "Busy."

"I can see that," Kanan half-chuckled, but couldn't find any real amusement. He faltered, as she took another bite, and then said what was on his mind.

"I've missed you."

Hera paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth, and her shoulders tensed, like she was bracing herself for a blow. She lowered it back to the bowl and looked at him.

"I know." Her voice was heavy. "I'm sorry, Kanan. It might be like this for a while."

He furrowed his brow. "That's it?"

There was a disconnect between them in the Force; she sounded confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that's it? No "I miss you too?" Just that it might be like this for a while?" He asked.

Hera's mouth opened and closed. Kanan continued, gesturing sharply.

"And I'm just supposed to accept that?"

"Well, no, but—"

His voice was rising. "Because that's what I do, right? You're the boss, Hera, and I'm just following the leader, as always." He knew he sounded resentful and petulant and ugly, but he'd held the words back too long, where they'd had time to fester and boil down into the bitterness that was spewing out now.

Hera was nonplussed. "No, that's not—"

"How long is "a while," anyways?" He pressed. "Eight years?"

Her confusion turned to shock. "Kanan, what are you talking about?"

He leaned forward. "What I'm talking about, Hera, is that if I were to walk away right now, I don't know if you would follow me."

It came out sounding angrier than he'd intended. Her jaw dropped open, and there was an immense hurt in her eyes, but no sound came out.

He lowered his voice, bringing his face as close to her as the table between them would allow.

"But I would follow you," he said. Kanan's tone changed again, rising as if it were beyond his control. "I have followed you. For years now."

There was a note of resentment there, and Hera flinched. She finally recovered enough to lean in, and said lowly, "Kanan, you know you were free to leave whenever you wanted—"

"Don't give me that." He cut her off. He knew it sounded brusque, but he was blistering with catharsis, emboldened by the heat of the moment. "You know how I feel about you."

Kanan didn't know if it was an accusation or a plea.

"I know, but Kanan—" She was pleading with him, but neither of them knew to what end.

"But what? What else is there, Hera?" He hated to be so harsh with her, but suddenly every doubt he'd ever harbored was springing out of his mouth. "I've followed you all over the galaxy. I've followed you through Zeb, Sabine, and Ezra. I've followed you all the way into this rebellion, even when you knew I wanted no part of it. And—" His voice cracked, betraying the fear that was the root of his anger. He felt a jolt of concern from her, as if her aura had protracted forward and reached out to him in placation. He took a deep breath.

"And every day I lose a little more of you to it."

Hera was staring at him with eyes that were wide and fearful. Kanan reached forward and found her hands, running his fingers over the cool leather of her gloves.

"Kanan, what are you saying?" She whispered.

He inhaled and released a slow breath. "I'm saying that I'm tired of it. I'm tired of following, tired of being a crutch, tired of taking a backseat to the rebellion and waiting for you to be ready for me." He tightened his grasp. "Because I'm in this, Hera, a hundred percent. And…"

He faltered; he knew there was pain written in every line of her face. Kanan had never wanted this, took no pleasure in hurting her, but he had to say it, had to lift the final weight of this burden.

"And it kills me that you're not."

She was deflating before him, the Captain Syndulla persona shrinking to nothing but skin and bone. Kanan swallowed hard. They'd started this before, but never finished it. He'd always let the sadness in her eyes, the silent plea, stop him from saying the final words, but he couldn't bear them any longer.

"If I didn't love you so much, I would tell you to decide what you want," he said quietly. "But I know I can't ask you to make that choice."

Grief flowed from her in waves, rocking the Force around them. He squeezed her hands and stood up, but she was frozen.

"I'll be here, Hera. I'll stay, for you," he said. Hera ached to stand, but her body refused, feeling heavy as durasteel. He levelled the stare of the mask at her.

"But you already know that, don't you?"

The words turned her cold with shock. She fought to stand, but the world had shifted to slow motion around her. Black spots danced before her eyes, either from fatigue or nausea, and made him look like a pattern of shadows as he walked out of the commissary.

"Kanan," she whispered. She felt sick, like her entire body had turned on her, and the food she'd scarfed down now sat like a brick in her stomach. Hera gripped the table for support as her gut twisted with nausea.

"Kanan," she said again. Her vision slowly cleared, and as she straightened her spine, Hera felt the eyes of the surrounding infantrymen on her. One of her pilots approached the table, hesitantly reaching out a hand.

"Captain Syndulla?" Her voice was trembling, cautious. "Are you alright?"

"Kanan," she breathed, ignoring the aid. She scanned the room, the doors— he was already gone. The pilot tilted her head in confusion, but all Hera could see was his back, walking away from her.

"Kanan!"

And then she was running. Past the tables, past the cooks, past her comrades. Running for all she was worth, dashing madly the way she had when she was a youngling, sprinting like she was at the front of a blurrg stampede.

"Kanan!"

She made it outside and screeched to a halt, scanning the grounds furiously, her lekku whipping her cheeks as she turned her head. And there he was, headed for the open jungle.

"Kanan!"

He turned, and then she was running so fast she could have been flying. His eyebrows barely had time to lift in surprise before she was grabbing him and kissing him with everything she had, crashing into him like a wave on the sand.

 _Stars—_ had she really forgotten how good that felt?

When they separated, Hera's cheeks burned, first with heat but then with shame.

"I'm sorry, love," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She stayed cradled in his arms, pressed close enough to hear his heart beating in his chest, steady and reassuring.

"You followed me."

She glanced up at him. "Hm?"

He shifted her in his arms so he could take off the mask, and then his sightless eyes burned into her soul. "You followed me."

It was like he'd cracked something open deep in her chest, and a well of emotion spilled out of it, starting with a laugh but then sparking tears in her eyes.

"Kanan…" Hera put a hand on his chest, pulled back just far enough to look at him without leaving his arms, and hoped he could sense the remorse flowing off her. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Kanan, I am so, so sorry."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she wouldn't let him. Hera now understood that he'd been making excuses for her for years.

"You're right," she said. "I'm selfish. I know I can always count on you to be there for me, and I take that for granted. You deserve more than what I give you, and…" Hera swallowed, the words were like rocks in her throat. "I don't deserve what you've given me." She looked away from him, ashamed even though she knew he couldn't see her. His hand came to her chin and tilted it up, so that she was meeting his eyes.

"You're not selfish," he said softly.

The words ached in her bones, and she could hardly look at him. "Kanan, please, I don't deserve that—"

"You're not," he said again, and his voice curled around her like a blanket. "You're the most selfless person I know." Kanan brought his touch to her arm and focused on her eyes so intently, it was like he could see her again. "You've given so much to this rebellion that there's hardly anything left of you."

The sincerity in his voice, the boundless love, was almost too much to hear—she felt tears trembling at the edges of her lashes. His hand traced up her jawline and cupped the skin of her cheek, and she held her breath.

A note of sadness slipped into his voice. "It's hard to love someone who's not there, Hera."

The air deflated from her lungs, and fresh guilt pricked her heart. His eyes weren't accusatory; they were soft, sorrowful. She blinked back tears.

"I know," she said. Hera swallowed the lump in her throat, and his thumb, soft as velvet, swiped a tear from under her eye. She reached down to squeeze his free hand, clasping it in her own. He squeezed back, and it gave her the courage she needed to move forward.

Hera cleared her throat and blinked hard against the tears. "I want to make this better," she said. She felt resolution buoying in her chest. "What can I do? What can  _we_  do?"

Kanan gave a contemplative pause, and rubbed his thumb methodically over her hand as he thought.

"I'd like to see you," he said, and was quick to add, "Outside of meetings, and briefings. I want to spend time together."

"Absolutely," she nodded. Hera felt relief wash over her—this was doable. They were going to be okay.

"And I want you to eat, and sleep." He paused, and the fragment of a smile played on his lips. "Preferably with me."

She blushed, shifting her head down; even though he couldn't see the color of her cheeks, she knew that he knew it was there.

"I'm serious," he nudged her and chuckled. "Well, about the first half. I like taking care of you, Hera, but I'm sick of watching you run yourself into the ground."

She opened her mouth, but he shook a finger, silencing her. "Don't deny it."

Her shoulders sank; he was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"Fine," Hera said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Three square meals a day?"

She shifted in his arms. "Do ration bars count as meals?"

Kanan raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember what I told you way back on the Moons of Rion, when you first asked me that question?"

Hera snorted. "How could I forget? I learned three new curse words that day."

"You did not," he rolled his eyes. "Everyone who's ever been on the  _Ghost_  when you were fixing it knows you have the mouth of a space pirate," Kanan smirked, squeezing her arm.

"Hey, I cleaned up my act when Sabine joined," Hera defended, but she was grinning.

"Don't know why." Kanan shrugged. "Kid knows more curse words than you do."

She couldn't keep from laughing, and he pulled her closer to his chest. In the pause that came when their mirth had faded, he cleared his throat.

"There's one more thing," he said. "I want to talk to you."

A sense of unease pooled in Hera's stomach, but she willed it away.

"About my space pirate mouth?" She forced a smile and nudged his chest. His response stopped her cold.

"About our future, Hera."

The previous moment's levity dead, she swallowed. Her stomach went tight with anxiety. "Okay."

"It doesn't have to be right now," he said. Relief washed over her. "I…" Kanan blew out air in a half-chuckle. "I don't think either of us wants any more fighting."

"No," she said, exhaling a whoosh of relief. The following silence gave Hera pause.

"No," she said again, her tone changing as she slowly came to the realization herself. "No, I want to fight about it."

Kanan raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Sometimes…" Hera paused, searching for the right words. "Sometimes I forget how much you've given up. Every time we fight, I get to hear what you want." She put a hand on his arm. "And that's important to me, Kanan. Really."

"You…  _want_  to fight about our future," he said flatly. There was a dry, unmistakably Kanan undercurrent of smirking sarcasm in his voice, and it warmed her insides like a cup of caf.

"Well," she gave a bashful shrug, shifting against his chest, "Not all the time."

He chuckled and pulled her closer. "Just every once in a while? Think you can pencil that into your busy schedule?"

Hera's face went pale. "Oh, kriff," she cursed, reaching for her comm. Kanan's expression crumbled.

"There's that space pirate mouth I remember," he murmured, but his heart wasn't in it. He heard the rustle of her lifting that damned wrist-com up to her perfect lips, as his heart and hope sank down into the sands of Atollon.

"Wedge?"

A sense of relief lifted them up just as fast, as she said, "Run the pilots through some drills. I'm going to be late."

With a definitive click, Hera switched the comm off, and Kanan felt joy spreading through his chest.

"Sorry, love," she said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Where were we?"

Elated and pleasantly surprised, the reply took him a moment. "I believe we were scheduling our next fight," Kanan supplied.

"Mm," Hera nodded, her lovely voice teasing. Her hands trailed up his shoulders and began playing in his hair. "Let's put it off for a while."

A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Now there's a plan I can agree with."

* * *

In the weeks that follow, it's not a perfect plan.

There are days when she misses meals. There are days so long and busy that they hardly have time to so much as blink at each other, much less speak, and missions when she's away from him for too-long stretches of time.

But if she is on the base, and she often is, she always, every night, makes sure to slip into his bed. Even if it's just for an hour, even if it's as short as ten minutes, she finds a way to curl up next to him and close her eyes. He always wakes up just enough to hold her; if they have time, he wakes up enough to do much more. But for the most part they're lucky to have those fleeting moments, with heart pressed to heart, hand locked in hand.

It's a small gesture, a small moment backlit by a galaxy that's far bigger than both of them, but it's enough.


End file.
